


without preamble or purpose (POI drabbles collection)

by Rosslyn



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Drabble Collection, M/M, Memes of Interest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:26:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosslyn/pseuds/Rosslyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A varied collection of POI drabbles/short stories/scenes featuring Finch/Reese. Mostly, as the title suggests, without preamble or purpose. </p>
<p>Features a drunk conversation, some discussion about books, a surprising gift, and a brief fusion with Inception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. city after dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a fill for astolat's prompt on memes of interest: Finch on the backseat of Reese's car. of course, I had to go and write a drunken conversation. headdesk

 

Reese glanced in the back mirror. Finch had put on his seatbelt and was smiling discreetly, evidently riding the thrill of another Number saved, expression a little loose from the alcohol they had served in the Convention. The Number had been a remarkably talented one: he was saved by his own hacking skills as well as Finch's, and Reese had to give the man credit for being able to at least follow Finch's handiwork. Finch was always excited to meet a fellow geek, though he would never carry over the enthusiasm after the case had closed, but it was not yet tomorrow. 

"You took three...right turns," Finch says, suddenly, meeting his eye in the mirror. 

"Pardon?" Reese murmurs.

"Three right turns," Finch repeats, small smile bearing a hint of curiosity now, "which takes us back to where we started. Are you lost, Mr. Reese?"

Reese contemplates on how best to give the answer. "No," he says after a while, then with a coy arch of the brow, "Has it never occurred to you that you haven't actually told me where you live?"

"Details, Mr. Reese," Finch replies, with a drawn out 'd', and Reese realises Finch might have been more drunk than he lets on. The guy did have about five tequila shots in order to con the password out of fellow hackers, after all. And then a celebratory toast after he'd won the fastest and simplest code to break a specifically designed game firewall. 

"Finch?" he tries again, careful to veer a left this time. Finch seems unperturbed by the aimless wandering in New York traffic, which was dying down as the hour approach midnight. 

"The city," Finch announces suddenly, "is like a circuit board."

Reese frowns. 

"Electrons flowing in a single direction," Finch continues, tapping the window once to signal passing cars. "Through switches" - a nod towards the traffic lights - "to arrive at the power source."

"Okay," Reese says slowly. He ponders about this for a minute. Then, "I always thought the city after dark was a lot like the sea."

"Oh?" Finch straightens a little in his seat, "How so?"

Reese flicks his gaze towards the side mirror. "Headlights. Like that fish in the deep sea with a lightbulb in front of his head - waiting for the prey to come towards the light."

" _Melanocetus johnsonii,_ " Finch announces, with an unwarranted dramatic flair. Reese's lips twitch. One day Finch is going to refer to the Numbers as _homo sapiens_ and then he'd have to put his foot down, but before that? The tiny curve that dons Finch's lips, half carefully smug and half inwardly pleased, that alone is enough.

"It depends on how you look at it," Finch continues, as if they had been having a meaningful conversation. Reese turns his attention back to the road. 

"How I look at what?"

"The light," Finch says, voice falling to the quiet and mesmerising. "Some say the prey come towards it, others see the fish chasing after it." 

Reese huffs a laugh. "I think the fangs speak for itself, Finch."

A strange look passes Finch's face, then he breathes a sigh. "Yes, I suppose they do."

They are at a cross section now - the traffic is thinning. Three cars veered off to the right, while two went straight ahead; Reese takes his time in the queue. The slowing in motion prompts Finch's attention back to the road, and Reese watches him as he watches the passing traffic, quieter at this hour.

"And where do all the anglerfish go?" Finch asks suddenly, reverting his eyes to the driver's seat. 

"Home, I suppose," Reese replies.

"Home," Finch repeats, a little drunk on the word. In the mirror he closes his eyes again, half a smile tugging at his lips, looking like he's silently humming to a tune that only he knows. _Home_. Reese smiles a little, too, and takes the right turn that will lead them back to theirs. 

 


	2. of literary explorations and other trivalities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally posted as a part of [as time goes by](http://archiveofourown.org/works/763549), my POI/cloud atlas fusion fic. But after watching 2.20 _In Extremis_ I realised canon is going in a direction that I cannot possibly catch up with, so the point of adding canon to a cloud atlas fusion fic becomes moot. I've since orphaned this chapter to be posted separately, as it's more of an episode tag now after 2.19. 
> 
> This is fluff!

Reese walked alongside Finch, his overcoat flapping in the wind. 

"Do you know where the word _decimate_ come from, Mr. Reese?" Finch asks suddenly, half turning to avoid the traffic. He does not wait for Reese to reply before answering himself. "Ancient Rome. Decimation is when the army general asks the mutinous, or cowardly soldiers to line up, and execute every tenth person in the line." 

"Effective population control," Reese says, with dark humour.

"Worse still," Finch continues, "It is sometimes done by ordering soldiers into groups. The nine survivors would stone or club the unfortunate tenth to death, as a salvation for their own crimes."

Reese's gives Finch a blank stare. "If you are trying to highlight the morbidity of the situation, I get it," he says. 

"Decima Technologies," Finch says, unabashed. They are at a crossing now, and the light is green, but Finch remains rooted to the spot, scrutinising the crowd with a slight frown on his face. "The name alone gives me an ominous feeling."

"Didn't peg you for one to believe in omens," Reese murmurs, placing a subtle hand behind the small of Finch's back and offering a gentle nudge. They fall into step again.

"Omens, no," Finch says, as they come up to the library. "Indications, yes." He gives Reese a significant look while Reese instinctively scanned the surroundings for suspicious behaviour and personnel. "The Numbers themselves are also indications, you know."

They climb the stairs in silence. Bear lunged for the entrance with a happy woof as soon as they reached the top of the stairs, and Reese  slips a treat into his mouth when Finch busied himself with the metal gate. "Good boy," he says, rubbing Bear's chin. 

"I saw that," Finch says as he comes up behind with a vaguely disapproving glance. "I should remind you that it was your idea to put him on a diet in the first place, Mr. Reese."

"When I say diet, I was thinking more on the lines of 'no more leftover donuts'," Reese replies, completely unashamed. The corner of Finch's mouth twitch as he quickly averts Reese's gaze.

"What?" Reese asks, suspicious. 

Finch doesn't reply, but pats his knees instead. "Come here," and Bear hops onto Finch's lap happily, nuzzling his face. "That's between Bear and I," Finch says, smirking a little.

Reese narrows his eyes but doesn't press the point further. He flops down on the armchair opposite the desk.

"New Number yet?"

"No," Finch replies. "Would you like the afternoon off?"

Reese ponders over this, thinks about the chess game with Han, then decides against it. "I never got to the ending of _Stress Fractures of Titanium_ ," he says, with a casual flick of his eyebrow. 

"Oh, it's a cliffhanger," Finch says, deadpan. Reese grins as Finch tosses Bear his favourite squeaky toy.

"Recommend something to me, then."

Finch pauses at the keyboard and looks over, bemused. "What would you like?"

Reese considers this for a while. "Something epic," he decides.

"Homer's _Iliad_ ," Finch says, almost immediately. "Worth reading again even if you have read it before."

"Alright," says Reese affably as he stands up. Then, "You do have an English translation of it?" 

"If you think I will lend you the 1542 rare edition then you should think again," says Finch dismissively. "Penguin classics, second shelf on your right." 

"Your rare editions make me sneeze," Reese mutters. He doesn't pretend to ignore the small wry smile that passes Finch's lips as he bends down to inspect the titles.

"Tactitus, Caesar, Procopius, Ammianus... why Homer, Finch?"

"Unless you prefer to read _The Natural History_ by Pliny the Elder?" 

Reese peeks at him behind the gaps in the shelf. "You read encyclopaedias for fun, Finch?" 

Finch beams. Reese's eyes disappear behind the books again with a roll that can only be described as indulgent. Finch calls after him.

"Come to think of it, you should try Procopius's _Secret History_ ," Finch says, with an imperceptible lilt in his voice, "I'm sure it'll provide an entertaining afternoon."

"By reading about a Queen who prefers to lay naked on stage, letting geese eat barley off her body?" Reese murmurs, completely unfazed, "My Finch, I never would've thought that of you."

The tip of Finch's ear burned red but he is smiling. "They left out the part about your veritable classics education, then."

"You don't think we read sixth century Roman erotica for fun in school?" Reese drawls.

"I'm not sure I want to know," Finch says, turning a little in his chair with a mocking scowl. "Would you like to move on to Procopius' _Wars?_ "

"I'm not falling for that," Reese says. The corners of Finch's mouth quirk. Reese glances at him, unimpressed. "You are enjoying this way too much," he notes. "I agreed to see _Roshomon_ with you, but if a line was ever to be drawn - "

"The entire collection of Ian Fleming's work is to your left," Finch says, nonchalant. 

Reese pointedly ignores him and makes a mocking typing gesture. Finch all but smirks.

"I've been thinking," he begins.

"Always a dangerous thing," Reese murmurs.

"- Perhaps you'd like a game of chess sometime?" Finch asks, smiling a little.

Reese arches a brow. "Chinese chess?"

"If you prefer," Finch says. "Since there are no new Numbers at the moment."

"Elias not challenging enough for you, then," Reese says, flicking a sly glance in his direction. Finch promptly brushes it off.

"I'm going to be bold and take that as a compliment," Finch says. "Found your book yet?"

"Let me see. What about _The Prophecy of Haraldr?_ " Reese asks, thumbing through the titles and pausing at a worn, leather bound journal. "Sounds interesting."

"I don't remember that," Finch says, frowning as he walks over. He runs his hands over the leather cover and opens it to find a small stamp inside. "It's donated to the library after the Great War," he says, leafing through the crisp pages carefully. "Interesting." Finch peered at the title again. "You don't pronounce the r, I think, " he says. 

"The Prophecy of Harold?" Reese reads out loud, "Now I really ought to read it."

They stare at each other across the book. 

"Right," Reese says finally, with a deliberate slowness in his voice. "Well? Would you like to read it together?"

"Before or after the chess game?" Finch asks, never one to back down easily.

"What, you can't multitask?" Reese says with a lewd glance and a flick of his head. "Come on."

Finch scowls after him. "If you want me to read it to you, I'll only do it in Latin," he says, defiantly. "It would look poorly on your part if you still lose, though -"

Then the phone rings. 

"Well," Finch says, exchanging a look with Reese. 

"Rain check?" Reese offers, smiling.

"I'll hold you to it," Finch murmurs, and picks up the phone.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Prophecy of Haraldr is a plot device I use in my cloud atlas fusion fic, and I left it in because ~~I'm lazy~~ I thought it didn't make a lot of difference. 
> 
> For those of you who haven't read Procopius‘ Secret History, I highly recommend it, it's the funniest piece of sixth century pr0n disguising as real history you'd ever read. I mean, seriously.


	3. gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> something I wrote while I was in the holiday mood. I may be persuaded to continue come next Christmas *ha*

 

 He picks up the phone. "Do we have a number?"

"Yes, and no," Finch says. "Can you come over?"

"I'll be there in ten," Reese says, already heading out the door.

"No - not the library," Finch says. He gives him an address which he has not heard before.

"Our number got himself into action already?" He muses.

"You could say that," Finch tells him. "Be here."

It struck Reese as strange that Finch said 'be here' instead of 'be there', and it was stranger that when he got to the address, Finch answered the door. 

"Come in, Mr. Reese," Finch says. "And before you ask, yes, this is one of my residences, though not one where I use often."

Reese glance around the lobby in interest. "It's very - bright," he decides at the end. The colours of the walls were a vibrant yellow and the ceiling has stars painted on them.

"After what happened with Leila," Finch says, guiding him towards the sitting room, "I thought it best if we had a child-proof safe house prepared, just in case."

Somehow Reese is not surprised by that. 

"Nice choice of wallpaper," he says, "I particularly like the goldfi-"

He walks through the door of the sitting room and abruptly stops.

"Finch," he says, voice low, "Tell me she isn't in danger again."

Beside him, Finch laughs. "No, Mr. Reese," the man tells him, voice filled with ease that hasn't been heard in a long time, "She is just here for the night."

Reese glances at him in surprise. "You mean -"

"Leila's parents asked us to babysit her," Finch beams. "Their babysitter backed out and they could not find a replacement in such short notice. It is the holiday season..."

Reese relaxes visibly and heaves a little sigh. "Is it wrong to perceive a person as a gift, Finch?" he mutters, eyes soft.

"Merry Christmas, Mr. Reese," Finch replies, softer.

He smiles into Finch's smile.


	4. dreamfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief Inception fusion scene.

The dream starts to collapse fifteen minutes into their arrival. One by one the pedestrians on the street turn into masked CIA agents, each with more firepower than the next, enough to take out a small country. Reese doesn't stop to look back, he drags Finch along the rapidly weaving path and races towards the IFT building, top floor.

"Will...you...please control your subconscious," Finch pants, stumbling over the stairs because he doesn't remember how _not_ to stumble over stairs when he's running at full speed anymore. "They are _everywhere_."

"That's kind of the point," Reese says, tugging Finch by hand, helping him onto the next floor, and the next. Nearly there now, yet so far, the stairs are winding by itself, never ending, no hope in sight. "Finch! Stop your involuntary imagination, will you?"

"This is not the first time I've -" Finch starts, then frowns hard in concentration. The stairs stop moving, and they finally reach the top floor. Reese pauses at the door to catch his breath, because yes running in dreams is just as exhausting as running in reality, and hears a loud, low, crumbling noise. 

The stairs are shattering. 

"Well go on," Finch says, gesturing towards the door breathlessly. "It's your subconsciousness."

Reese hesitates, and the ground beneath him start to sway. He knows a collapsing dream when he sees one, and he hastily pushes the door open, because what the hell, right? 

Then Kara Stanton stares back at him, with a smile and a loaded gun. 

"Hello, lover," she greets, and turns the gun on Finch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know how these things are. random scenes your plot bunny feeds you. *shrugs*


End file.
